


Matchmaking Mishaps

by FoundHerselfInWonderland13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Blind Date, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Kinda, Living Together, M/M, Matchmaking, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sabriel - Freeform, but classes are only mentioned briefly, set up by a friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundHerselfInWonderland13/pseuds/FoundHerselfInWonderland13
Summary: Dean hasn`t been on a date in forever, not since his unsuccessful one months ago, where he got stood up. Determined to play Cupid, Charlie attempts to set him up with a mystery Romeo. Which would be perfect, except he`s too busy pining over his flatmate, attractive musician, Cas. He`s talented, sweet, clever, and to Dean`s dismay, straight.“Mystery dude could be hotter than the freaking sun and know the words to every Zeppelin song,” he interrupted with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, taking a long swig of coffee in the hopes of distracting himself from her idealistic, lovesick nonsense. “Still don’t mean I’ve gotta date him.”With background sabriel, well-meaning friend, Charlie, a quaint little coffee shop and a few misunderstandings.





	Matchmaking Mishaps

 

“I’m telling you, Dean, you’re gonna thank me for this one day. The guy is perfect for you.”

Dean was entirely unconvinced. He’d learnt his lesson the hard way, the first and only time he'd agreed to play along with Charlie's attempts at playing cupid. That had been way back in January and he still had the mental scars to prove it. He’d only gone along with it to shut her up. She could be annoyingly persistent when she set her mind to something, she tended to latch on like a limpet and refuse to let it go until the world bended to her will. An admirable trait when it didn’t involve his private life. Well, okay, silencing her infernal babbling hadn't been his sole reason for submitting to her ridiculous demands. He was a young, red-blooded American male, he had wanted to get a leg over and blow off some steam. So sue him, he was only human. Plus, she had said the guy was crazy hot. It had been a few months since his rather devastating break up with Cassie, with his frustration levels rocketing to an all-time high. Her meddling had presented him with the perfect opportunity to explore his newfound acceptance of his bisexuality, too. It had sounded like a win all round. He should have known better.

Whoever the new mystery Romeo she was attempting to throw in his direction was, Dean sincerely doubted his apparent perfection. That line was exactly what the red-headed, wannabe cupid had lured him in with before, and look how that turned out. Stranded alone in a fancy pants restaurant with the judgmental waiters all swarming around him, placing steeper and steeper bets on how long it would take for him to finally admit defeat and trek home with his tail firmly between his legs. To think he had actually given in and allowed Charlie to wrangle him into his one good suit for that waste of an evening spent wallowing in self pity and too many overpriced beers. It was ludicrous then and even more ludicrous now. If she really thought he would even momentarily consider her matchmaking crap again, she was crazy. One hundred percent, absolutely certifiable. While he was likely at least partially responsible (a generous opinion) for his childhood friend’s tragic loss of sanity, that still didn’t mean he had to put up with her romantic interference as penance.

His brother on the other hand, was fully supportive of Charlie's ridiculous meddling, if only because he knew it wound him up more than usual. Typical. Maybe he should drop hints about Sam’s ever growing loneliness, see what freak of nature she stuck him with. He was certain darling Sammy wouldn’t find his romantic turmoil so entertaining if the full force of Charlie’s maddening matchmaking skills were aimed at him instead. Looking at it now, perhaps he should consider himself lucky his blind date had chosen to stand him up, her taste was questionable at best and downright insulting at worst. The potential partners Charlie had tried hurling his way since the night of his epic and total humiliation had been worrying to say the least. Bela Talbot? Really, Charlie? Sure, she was hot, but the chick was a self centred queen of manipulation with a burning hatred of him to boot. He wasn’t entirely opposed to a round or three of energetic hate sex, but that bitch was likely to pull a praying mantis on him and chomp down on his head afterwards. Or during. Gulp. And Michael? Christ! That slime ball made his skin crawl with his douchebaggery and pushiness. He had only recently started taking the short cut behind the campus coffee shop and the gym after Dr. Harvelle's lectures again, after months of avoiding the area because he knew Michael and his creepy younger brother, who honest to god was actually called Lucifer, liked to frequent the coffee shop after classes. Then there was Crowley, whose Mummy married a republican dinosaur whose oversized wallet was his only redeeming feature. Crowley's motto in life was if he wanted it, he got it. And he had wanted Dean badly. And ok, so the accent almost made him consider it, for like two seconds, but the dude had way too many mummy issues.

He shook his head. Sometimes, Dean worried just what Charlie thought of him, if she pictured him hitting it off with assholes like those three. “Charlie, I don’t think-"

“Plus, he’s super hot,” Charlie boasted with a smile, setting her drink down on the table with a muted thump. Looked like her selective hearing was back in full force. Again. It was funny how she could recognise the Harry Potter theme from a mile away, but refused to register his complaints when he was sitting just across the table from her.

As much as he loved and trusted her judgement on anything but his pathetically non-existent love life, he failed to see how she of all people could possibly be a good judge on the attractiveness of the male form. “You remember that you're gay, right?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Like a raging lesbian?”

She cast him a look of utter disdain and rolled her eyes. “I’m not blind.” Her tone, paired with the expression on her face, clearly implied that she thought he was an idiot.

Dean narrowed his eyes in her direction.

“Alright, fine,” she huffed, throwing her hands up in defeat.” She turned to rest a hand on Sam's shoulder. He made a brief humming sound in the back of his throat, too engrossed in a bulky stack of paperwork to properly acknowledge the touch. “I asked Sam what he thought.”

Dean's eyes bulged and his jaw slackened as he fought and failed miserably to contain his horror. “You did what?”

Charlie shrugged, calmly taking a bite of her food. “I showed him a picture, asked if he thought you'd be game and he said,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, “well, I don’t really want to repeat what he said, but to sum up, yes, the guy is apparently gorgeous.” She grinned, stretching her arms up above her head lazily, before crossing them firmly across her chest. “I’m a genius. No need to thank me, a lifetime supply of cheesecake will do,” she said, inhaling a generous forkful of the rich, fruit laden desert, looking every bit like the cat that got the cream.

“I haven’t even agreed to go on the stupid date yet,” Dean reminded her, a rough edge to his voice. “And I’m not going to, it doesn’t matter what you say.”

Her face threatened to drop, but she caught herself just in time. “You have to, it’s all arranged.” She tucked a silky strand of red hair that had escaped its braid behind her ear and took another bite of her food. “You don’t want to be an asshole and stand him up, do you?”

“No, it isn't,” he said, calling her bluff. Spurred on by a friendly desire to piss her off, he reached across the table and stole her dessert for himself, quickly sliding her half finished plate across the table.

“Hey!” Charlie cried, slapping at his arm, earning herself a few irritated looks from the other diners. Her valiant attempts to rescue her cheesecake were in vain. She watched, mouth gaping open in horror as Dean tucked into his pilfered strawberry treat. He didn't even like cheesecake that much, unless it was coated with layer upon layer of smooth, delicious chocolate and topped with whipped cream, but it was worth the assault on his taste buds to see her pout like a sullen child.

“Dean Winchester.” Her voice was like ice, eyes burning with rage. He was going to pay for this one day. “You are a monster.” For now, however, revenge truly was sweet.

“What, you mean don’t like me making decisions about your life without asking first?” He took his time licking the strawberry sauce off of his spoon, relishing the flare of anger in her eyes more than the sweet, red syrup coating his tongue. “Shocker.” He smacked his lips together loudly.

“Sam!” Charlie whined, hoping that the younger Winchester would come to her cheesecake’s defence.

“Dean, give her back her cake.” He sighed, refusing to even glance up at the bickering children. His eyes scanned across a paragraph of text for what felt like the hundredth time. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a frown, certain his overworked brain was steadily liquefying, absorbing less and less crucial information with each new read through. Was it possible to actually die of boredom? It certainly felt that way.

“Sammy, tell her to mind her own business and stay out of my love life!”

Charlie scoffed. “Your non-existent love life, you mean? I’m doing you a favour here, stop being such a stubborn ass.”

“She has a point,” he pointed out, flipping the page, cursing inwardly when he saw the massive wall of text. He checked the page number, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Had he really not even finished half of the assigned reading yet? Was it possible for time to stand still?

“Ooh, check our Mr. Heartbreaker over here!” Dean scoffed. “I’m sorry, when was the last time you had a date?”

Sam shrunk down in his seat. “There was Jess. And Ruby,” he added in a tiny voice, scarcely above a whisper. Dean had previously made his views on the blonde crystal clear.

“Oh yeah, Ruby. There’s a real prize.” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “How did that work out again?”

Sam threw his head back, silently cursing his brother and his own stupidity. It was bad enough that their immature bickering was distracting him, but did they really have to drag all that crap up again?

“I swear, maybe you should consider switching teams and dating guys,” Dean suggested through an offputtingly large mouthful of cake. How charming. Sam was stunned that he didn’t already have a partner. “It's not like you can do much worse.”

He wasn’t serious, anyone could tell that much, but Sam loathed to admit that he had a point. His past relationships had all crashed and burned, then burned some more. Right or not, he certainly wasn’t in any hurry to outwardly agree with his brother. Not because he had any issue with the possibility of acting on his rare attraction to men, and Dean obviously wouldn't either, but he knew that he would Lord it over him until they were wrinkled old men chasing each other around the old folk's home in their motorised scooters.

“Shut up.” He flipped another page, grabbing his pen and quickly jotting down some key dates in a tidy script.

“Real mature, Sammy.”

“Finish your damn cheesecake.” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped out of his big fat mouth, setting Charlie off on another rage about thieves and sugary treats. Wonderful.

He sighed again, sinking further down in his chair, foolishly hoping that if he slunk down far enough, they would forget he was there. He was beginning to feel an awful lot like an overworked mother to two unruly, irksome children he didn’t remember having. All he wanted was to brush up on, well, anything even remotely relevant in preparation for his upcoming exams in the New Year. He knew he should have headed to the local library alone, instead of joining them on their weekly sugar filled outing. Every Friday afternoon was the same, Dean would get out of class at two, then hang around until Sam got out half hour later. The two of them would jump in the impala and race through town, ignoring the speed limits that Dean viewed as mere friendly suggestions, and park up as close as they could to Mystery Spot cafe, where Charlie would meet them. The two of them would then distract him from his endless load of coursework with their incessant, childish squabbling. He didn’t know why he kept dragging himself along every week without fail. It wasn't as if he even liked sweets that much. Before the local Starbucks closed, if he was swamped with coursework, he would politely decline their unspoken invitation and drown himself in stacks of meticulously ordered notes and gallons of energy drinks, but there was something about this quaint little coffee shop he couldn’t refuse, that kept him coming back. Glaring from behind the safety of his textbook, he decided that it certainly wasn’t his present company that had him so enamoured.

Mystery Spot was tucked away in a quiet little corner, just off the main drag, and a stone’s throw away from the library, making it a popular choice for coffee deprived students, lured out of the winter chill by the inviting scent of freshly brewed coffee and Christmas card perfect decorations. The crushed velvet armchairs dotted around the oak tables were mismatched and faded, decorated with vibrantly coloured, handwoven throws and quirkily shaped cushions. A large pair of golden angel wings hung from the ceiling, with miniature cherubs placed randomly on shelves and tables. A large tree was centred in the window display, framed by paper snowflakes and draped in glowing lights and sparkly tinsel, dressed in traditional ornaments of jolly snowmen and red-suited, white bearded men.

“Hey look,” Dean cut Charlie off mid rant and nudged him in the shoulder, hoping to drag his attention away from his studies. “There’s the love of your life over there.”

“You really do talk some crap. I thought I was a loveless loser?”

“No, that’s Dean.”

He turned the page, praying the next chapter would prove more enlightening than the previous. No such luck. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who am I apparently in love with?”

“Gabriel,” Dean hissed softly, forcing a hand under his chin and forcing his head up, careful to avoid being too rough with him. Despite all their childish roughhousing and enjoyment gained from tormenting each other, it all came from a place of love. Neither brother would do anything to ever seriously harm the other. “Over there, by the windows.” He pointed lazily in the direction of the waiter, fork still in hand.

Shaking him off with a muttered string of curse words, Sam focused his eyes in the direction he had pointed. The young man with his festive red and white apron knotted loosely around his waist and a cheeky grin on his handsome face was mercifully too preoccupied with his task of wiping away coffee stains and crumbs to notice his staring. His smile was mesmerising, friendly and just on the right side of cocky. Gabriel, Sam remembered fondly from their many previous visits was always smiling. “I’m not in love with Gabriel,” was all he managed to say.

“Alright, maybe you’re not,” Dean agreed, digging him in the shoulder for the second time in as many minutes, much to his lack of amusement. “But you do wanna screw around with him. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

“Well,” Charlie smiled, “you managed to figure it out, so.” She sipped her drink. “But he is right, any moron can see it. Exhibit A,” she said, pointing at Dean.

“I hate you both.”

He laughed as though he had never heard anything so funny. “Love you too, Sammy.” The sound was infectious, his happiness washing away Sam and Charlie’s irritation as they began to join him. “Oh, and Sammy?” He smirked, holding his mug out to toast with his. With a somewhat amused roll of the eyes, Sam copied him. “Welcome to the team.”

Across the room, Gabriel worked on, unaware of his customer's conversation. He was a shorter man, which helped him dart in between the tables with an ease he might not have, had his legs been longer and easier to trip over. He was around Dean's age, and just finishing off putting himself through an evening patisserie course at the local college by working for his older brother at Mystery Spot cafe. He was a nice guy, cheerful and all too happy to help, with a little mischievous streak that reared its impish head every so often. Like the time his inappropriate coffee art had almost caused Sam to have a heart attack. Dean, of course, had found his horrified reaction to the frothy dick swimming around in his drink hilarious. And not that it was remotely relevant to his dessert making ability, but Gabriel had the most stunning eyes Sam had ever seen. Like liquid gold mixed with a shot of expensive whisky. The good kind their dad could only justify splurging on Christmas.

Pushing his heavy textbook to the side, he watched as the man busied himself with collecting plates, taking orders and wiping up the empty tables. His cheeky grin never faltered, even when an energetic toddler crashed into him, causing him to almost stumble and dump a cluttered tray on top of them. He simply smiled and returned the child safely to its table with a gentle pat on the top of its unruly head of strawberry blonde curls. When he caught Sam watching, his smile brightened and he waved, waggling his fingers eagerly, before hopping behind the counter to take a silver haired woman's herbal tea order. Alright, so maybe there was someone in the quaint little coffee shop that kept him coming back. When Gabriel vanished around the back with an armful of used dishes, he returned his attention to his revision, but his mind was still elsewhere.

“Can I get you guys another drink? More cake?”

Sam jumped, toppling his mug over in his surprise. A steaming river of golden coffee spilled across the table like a waterfall, while the dregs trickled down the edge into his lap, leaving an embarrassing damp patch directly above his crotch. Brilliant.

“Whoops, sorry about that.” With a steady hand, Gabriel gently lifted the study materials to the safety of the centre of the table, mopping up the spillage with a fresh napkin. Flashing him a dazzling smile, he said, “careful there, don’t want to ruin all your hard work.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said oh so intelligently, cursing himself for almost destroying the notes he had been obsessing over for the past few weeks. “Thanks for saving them. I’m really sorry about,” he waved a hand at the mess, “all this.” He tried to grab a couple of napkins to help, but his hands were knocked out of the way by Gabriel’s smaller ones. They were incredibly soft he noticed, lightly dusted with a sprinkling of flour. Sam briefly glanced over at the aesthetic display of sugary bakes under the counter. Even to him they looked appetizing, and Dean was the one with the oversized jaw full of sweet teeth. Was Gabriel really the one responsible for making them all? Suddenly, he found himself more likely to try a bite.

“Don’t worry about it.” He dismissed his klutziness with a shrug as he finished drying off the table top. “No harm done. I'll let you get the rest, unless you need a hand?” He said, an impish lilt to his voice, as he gestured at the damp coffee stains on his jeans.

Sam's ears burned at the implication, turning his head slightly so he could avoid the other man's intense stare. When had it suddenly gotten so hot in there?

“Thanks, I’m good.” He dried the mess up as best he could with his shaky hands.

“Can I get you another drink to replace the one you’re currently swimming in?” His face crinkled with the beginning of a chuckle, the sound of his easy laughter music to Sam's ears.

And yeah, ok, maybe Dean was right, he was developing a teensy little crush. He’d been wrong about switching teams earlier, though. While he had never actually pursued anything serious with another man, he was far from closed off to the idea. If the right guy came along, perhaps one with golden eyes and a grin that could make him melt, then well...

“Samshine? More coffee? Cake? My number? Final offer.”

”Hmm...” Sam blinked, his usual impeccable grasp of the English language momentarily abandoning him. “Oh, right! Uh, yes please.” He offered the empty mug to Gabriel with a sheepish smile.

Across the table, Dean and Charlie caught each other’s eye, exchanging a knowing look. Dean forced out a cough. “I’ll have another slice of pie. Charlie, more cake?” His smile was daring as he placed his empty apple pie dish on top of her own.

She shook her head, throwing him a scathing look. “Nothing for me, thanks. I’m still working on my hot chocolate.” She raised her half full mug, brimming with milky, chocolatey goodness.

“Sure I can’t twist your arm?” Gabriel teased lightly, eyes bright with devilment. “I made it myself so you know it's the best in town.”

As expected, she gave in and ordered a second slice, glaring at Dean as she did so. “If it wasn’t for your thieving ways, I wouldn’t need to order another piece. I actually want to still be able to fit into these jeans at the end of the day!” She slapped his arm lightly, the amusement in her voice lessening the sting.

“Sure thing, I’ll be right back,” Gabriel sang, skipping off to fetch their orders.

Sam groaned, turning back to face his friends. “Ok, let’s hear it.”

Charlie giggled. “I think someone likes you.” She told him with a smirk, as though it wasn’t already obvious, even to someone as romantically oblivious as Sam. It had taken him five months of tiptoeing around Jess before becoming aware of the blossoming spark between them.

Sam peered at Gabriel behind the counter, busy battling with the coffee machine, the irritation in his eyes softening into adoration. “Yeah, I think I got that. Thanks.”

“You should ask him out,” she suggested, eyeing Gabriel cautiously to see if he had heard them.

If he had, he wasn’t letting on. He was finishing plating up her second helping of cheesecake when another customer appeared, the quaint little doorbell tinkling and alerting him to her presence. He offered them a chirpy greeting while plating up Sam's drink. “I’ll be with you in a second!” He called merrily, mopping up a spillage of coffee.

“I’m not going to be that asshole who hits on people when they are at work,” Sam said, eyes subtly flickering towards Dean, who didn’t miss the implication. He scowled in response and Sam knew that he would pay for that jab later. “Especially when they’re obviously run off their feet.” It was true, Gabriel was a talented actor and a naturally upbeat person, but the subtle edge of weariness to his tone was evident if you listened hard enough, and he had enough bags under his eyes to stock a supermarket. Looks like Balthazar had failed to show up again. It was a family business, but Balthazar appeared to feel that being the owner in title alone was enough hard work for him.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree, but I don’t think he'd mind somehow. In fact,” Charlie's voice lowered to a whisper, as she motioned for him to lean in closer, “ I don’t think he’d mind if you bent him over one of the tables and asked him to marry you afterwards,” she giggled.

Sam spluttered noisily, cursing the burning of his cheeks as they turned a violent shade of red. He cursed her too, and his stupidity for his poor choice in friends. The mother at the table opposite turned to scowl at them, before turning to coo at her now whimpering baby.

“Oh come on, that’s disgusting!” Dean was several shades greener than he had been before. Suddenly that extra slice of pie wasn’t looking like such a great idea. He’d still manage to choke it down, but still, that was an image he certainly didn’t need before eating. Or ever. Thanks a lot, Charlie.

Charlie sat there quietly with her arms folded neatly in her lap, the picture of innocence. Yeah, right, well they knew better.

“Can we please change the subject, I think I’m gonna hurl here!”

“Of course.” Sam smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes, eager to get his own back. “We can talk more about your love life. Charlie, tell my brother more about the perfect guy you found for him. You're not doing anything this Saturday, right Dean?”

He groaned, slumping angrily in his chair. “I already told you, it’s not happening.”

She ignored him. Of course she did. Fan-freaking-tastic. That was all he needed, to listen to a gay girl babble on about some supposedly perfect guy for the next half hour. When did his life devolve into some crappy reality television show? That selective hearing was a real bitch.

Sam grinned triumphantly as Charlie went in for the kill. “Trust me, this guy is perfect for you! We’ve already covered the whole hot thing, but-“ she jabbered away excitedly, gesturing animatedly with her hands. Adorable under any other circumstances, but right now he kind of wanted to gouge her pretty eyes out with a dessert spoon. He feared that if she became any more excitable and careless with her arms, that they would all end up wearing her hot chocolate.

“Mystery dude could be hotter than the freaking sun and know the words to every Zeppelin song,” he interrupted with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, taking a long swig of coffee in the hopes of distracting himself from her idealistic, lovesick nonsense. “Still don’t mean I’ve gotta date him.”

Charlie’s face fell. He almost felt bad for causing the disappointment in her eyes. She just sat there, with those doleful eyes downcast, looking lost. Behind her, the twinkling Christmas lights formed a warm halo of golden light. Almost, but not quite. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend his Saturday night doing something more appealing than coursework, washing his hair or watching repeats of Dr. Sexy, but he wasn’t dumb enough to take her up on her offer of a blind date again. Not after that disaster. Besides, even if she had scored gold and found a decent looking, non-creepy guy, who was at least semi interesting, it wouldn’t matter anyway. It wouldn’t be the right guy. It would never be the right guy, because that guy, with his artfully ruffled hair, ocean eyes and gentle smile that had to be powered by sunlight itself, was his roommate. His incredibly attractive, dorkishly adorable, painfully heterosexual roommate.

“Here you guys go!” Sam had been the only one to notice Gabriel's reappearance. He greeted him with a warm smile and happily took the tray of cake and drinks from him.

“No dicks in your coffee this time, promise.” He winked, about to skip back off, when Sam caught him by the arm, causing both of them to jolt. Gabriel stood there for a moment, just staring at the spot where Sam had touched him.

“I think you gave me someone else’s plate. I didn’t order this.” He held up a delectable looking slice of cake, topped with snowy cream, silvery flakes and a chocolate decoration shaped like a delicate sprig of mistletoe.

Gabriel chuckled awkwardly, tugging at his apron strings as he took the dish back. “No I didn’t. It was the last one left and I saved it for you. You know, because of what happened earlier with the coffee.” He popped the cake back down. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

Sam ducked his head, dark hair forming a perfect curtain across his face. It made it easier to look at Gabriel with something between them. “Oh, uh, thanks.” His smile was nervous. He could feel Dean and Charlie’s smugness radiating from their entire beings. “That’s really nice of you.”

“What can I say, I’m a wonderful person. Enjoy!” He said with a flourish, walking away with an extra spring in his step and a more deliberate sway to his hips. Further fuelling his embarrassment, Sam found himself unable to look away.

“Dude.” Something slapped the back of his head, drawing him away from his fixation. “You’ve got it bad,” Dean said through a mouthful of flaky, golden pie crust, eyes lit with amusement. “I hate to admit it, but I agree with Cupid over there. You should definitely ask him out, he’s clearly nuts about you.” He shuddered, feigning a comedic look of horror, eyes bulging wide and mouth hanging open in a silent scream of terror. “God help the poor fucker. Because, and no offence, man, but you kinda suck.”

“Shut up, jerk. You don’t know anything about it.” His words were harsh, but the hopefulness colouring his tone was far from cruel. He paused for a moment, distracting himself with a bite of the free cake. Dean was the one who had inherited their mother's sweet tooth, but the man could clearly bake up a storm. It was delicious. Dean thought so too, judging by the way he kept eyeing the chocolate drizzled plate up with hungry eyes. “You really think so?”

“Think? I freaking know so.” He pointed his fork at Charlie. “Tell him.”

“I already did.”

Dean looked a little green again. “Yeah, colourfully.” He dropped his fork, eyeing the dessert with sorrow.

The conversation was thankfully saved by the buzzing of a phone. Charlie dug it out of her pocket, her eyes eagerly racing across the new text. “That’s your mystery lover boy!” she squealed. “He says he’s free this Saturday. So, last chance, how about it?” Her tone was expectant, fingers hovering over the keypad practically vibrating with excitement.

“Charlie,” Sam warned, nudging her foot with his own. “Drop it,” he mouthed.

“Well, how about it?”

Dean growled. If he didn’t love the redheaded menace so much he would probably hate her. He knew that she meant well, it was impossible for the gold-hearted nerd to mean anything else, but he just wasn’t interested. “Maybe some other time, I just don’t think it’s gonna work out.”

“But you haven’t even met him yet,” she pointed out. “Look.” She took hold of his hand. “I’m not blind, I think I know what this is about. You’ve still got the hots for that straight boy, right? You know, I really wish you would tell me who he is, so I can give him a good talking to for making you so miserable. But maybe a date will be good for you. It doesn’t have to lead to anything, but it might help.”

“What now?” Sam tore his attention from his notes. “There’s a guy now?”

“Fuck off, Sam.” His voice was gruff.

He was seriously starting to regret telling her about anything ever. About a year and a half ago, on the sloppy, drunken side of intoxicated, he had invited himself over to the flat she shared with her girlfriend and blabbed away his whole life story, guts and tears and all. All the crap with his dad, how worried he was about Ruby's involvement in Sam's life, and all the self doubt that was eating him alive. Somehow, after a midnight snack and a Harry Potter marathon, they had gotten onto the subject of relationships. How lucky she was to have someone like Dorothy in her life, how envious he was. He let slip that things with Cassie hadn’t been right for some time, how much of an asshole he was, because he had developed feelings for someone else.

A stunningly attractive, heavenly sweet, someone else. A male someone else. She’d listened, without judgment for what felt like hours, as he rambled on and on about the gorgeous guy who volunteered in the campus library. The one with the electric blue streak through his hair that really highlighted his eyes, who had the plushest, pink lips he had ever seen, emphasised by the thin black ring he wore pierced through the left. Frontman for the popular college band, Lazarus, all round sweetheart and bookworm extraordinaire, Castiel Novak presented him with a major problem.

“Fucking drop it, I’m done talking about this crap,” he snapped angrily, clenching his fists. “I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push,” Charlie placated in a small voice. “I just thought-"

His face was deadly. She finally relented. “Fine, forget I said anything.”

Under the table she fiddled with one of the charms on her bracelet, the quiet jangling of metal reminding Dean of the snowy December afternoon, six years ago when he had bought it. Since then, buying her a new charm had become a festive tradition. Narked as he was, he wasn’t too annoyed by her pestering not to allow himself a brief smile at the memory.

“I know you didn’t,” he grudgingly agreed through a sigh, screwing his eyes shut tightly. “I just, well, I’m not really focused on dating right now.

“Because of that guy?” She peered up at him timidly, her voice small.

He nodded, the slightest incline of his head, before grabbing his fork again, the coldness in his eyes making it clear he had said all he was going to on the subject.

“So,” after an uncomfortable silence, Charlie eagerly latched on to a new conversational topic. “What else is new with you guys?”

Both of them shrugged. “Same old, same old,” Dean said, feigning a yawn. “College is kicking my ass. Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to study at grad level again?”

“Because you love what you’re doing, and you’re gonna be like some big engineer for NASA or something someday.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right. And after that I’ll become president and marry Taylor Swift.”

Ignoring him, she turned to Sam. “What about you?” She probed, snatching the pen from his hand.

He held up one of his textbooks in answer. “You?” He tried to sound interested, he really did, but after an afternoon of legal terminology, his brain was mush, and his ability to care was severely limited.

“Me and Dorothy are thinking about getting a cat.”

“Wow, why didn’t you start with that, instead of boring us with all your Cupid crap all afternoon?” Dean scoffed.

“Here we go again,” Sam sighed, starting to collect his paperwork and books, dumping them in his sturdy backpack. He hoped they would catch the hint, but they seemed all too happy to return to their earlier squabbling. “It’s getting late,” he pressed, kicking his brother under the table.

Dean shot him a look caught somewhere between irritation and confusion, eyebrows knotted together and lips curling downwards into a complaint. “Dude, what the hell?”

Sam tapped his foot again, harder this time, miming checking an invisible watch with his hands in his lap.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. Sam had to stop himself from shaking his head in exasperation. He was, however, still toying with the idea of slapping his brother. Could he have handled that with any less subtlety? “Yeah, guess you’re right,” he said, finally getting with the picture. “Would you look at the time? I promised Cas I’d be back for five, he’s cooking tonight.” Uncertainty coloured his voice.

They all pulled a face. Cas was far from a gifted cook, his recipes tended to end in disaster whenever he was left unsupervised with cooking utensils and an oven. His most recent unaided exploration of the kitchen had ended in an unidentifiable mess that he claimed used to be burgers and fries. Dean wasn’t convinced that the charred mess served up to him was fit for human consumption, or ever had been. His pleased face had been enough to make him choke down two servings though, something his taste buds were still yet to forgive him for. After the first few botched attempts, Dean had picked him up a cook book from a second hand shop, wrongly assuming that he couldn’t possibly make too many fatal errors with concise instructions laid out in front of him. Boy, had he been mistaken! He remembered that night clearly, choking down a disgustingly unique concoction that turned out to be a mash-up between some fancy spicy pasta and risotto. When Dean inspected the recipe afterwards, he noticed something crucial that he hadn’t before when casting a quick glance over the cover inside the shop. A closer inspection revealed several missing pages and a sickly green stain gluing a couple of the remaining sheets together. He supposed he couldn’t entirely lay the blame with Cas on that one, but he was dubious about whether or not anyone less disaster prone in the kitchen would have made the same mistake.

“You go. You go now, if you want to survive dinner.” Charlie had been warned about his roommate’s stomach curdling kitchen monstrosities, Dean had sent her photographic evidence of his infamous green mac and cheese after she refused to believe him.

Dean got to his feet and grabbed his worn leather jacket from the back of his chair. A gift from his late father, even the icy bitterness of winter paired with a lifetime of unsavoury memories couldn’t persuade him to give it up. “I said I’d swing by the store and get some supplies first. You guys need anything?” He offered, turning towards Charlie, whilst battling with an inward turned sleeve.

“Thanks, but I’m good. We just went the other day.”

“Same,” Sam replied, also getting to his feet.

“Sure you don’t want a lift back? I’m dropping Sam, I don’t mind taking you as well.”

The flat she shared with her girlfriend was on the outskirts of the centre, only a short bus ride away, but it was sweet of him to worry.

“I don’t want you going out of your way.” Charlie scooted over to the pair of them, pulling them in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you soon, message me later, ok?” She pressed a friendly kiss to each of their cheeks, cackling as they tried to escape, then grabbed her bag and dashed off to catch her bus.

They watched her leave, waiting until she was out of sight. Dean stretched his arms lazily above his head, letting out a deep yawn. “You about ready to head out? Or do you want to hang around and say your goodbyes to Gabriel?” he teased, smirking as he slung an arm around Sam's shoulders.

He rolled his eyes, swinging his bag over one arm, knocking Dean’s hand out of the way with a surprised yelp. “I’m just going to thank him for the free cake, you go get the car started. I’ll catch up in a minute.” He gave him a look, silently asking him not to argue. Or to say anything totally embarrassing.

Dean’s smile was lecherous. “Right.” He nodded, drawing the word out. “You do that.” He turned to leave, waggling his fingers and grinning over his shoulder. “See you in a minute, Sammy. Have fun.” He walked off, body convulsing as he howled with laughter.

Sam’s head fell into his hands as he rubbed at his temples. Jesus Christ, what an asshole. Shaking his head, he set about tidying up their table, tucking Dean’s chair back in neatly and gathering up their empty mugs into the tray. Before he could talk himself out of it, he dug a pen out of his bag and scrawled a quick message on a spare napkin, chucking the others in the bin so it wouldn’t be disposed of accidentally. He was just fishing around in his pocket for some change when a pair of warm hands snaked their way around his neck.

“Aww, leaving already?” Gabriel whined, spinning him around to face him, showcasing a strength Sam wasn’t aware he possessed. He liked it. He liked it a lot. In fact, he’d like to see more of it. The other man was pouting, Sam noticed, his golden eyes wide and almost pleading with him to stay.

“My brother is waiting for me out in the car,” he said, sorrow leaking through into his explanation. “I have to.” He glanced down, anything to avoid looking in those eyes any longer. “Are you on your tiptoes?”

Gabriel huffed, his chest puffing out. “No.” The arms retracted slowly, fingertips skimming down his arms appreciatively. “You're just a giant.”

Sam’s voice shook with laughter. “You were, you had to stand on your tiptoes to reach.” How adorable, not that he was foolish enough to mention it out loud, Gabriel was enough of a handful as it was. Give him a further boost to his already impressive confidence and Sam doubted he'd have the strength to manage him. “You’re so small.”

Gabriel scowled. “Like I said,” he began, pausing to pick up the tray, “you’re just a giant.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for the cake, again.”

“You enjoyed it then?” He waggled his eyebrows far too provocatively to still be talking about cake. It made his stomach flip.

Sam coughed. “Yeah, it was, it was great. Uh.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, shuffling his feet. “I’d better go, Dean isn’t exactly known for his patience. I’ll see you next time.” He made a mad dash towards the exit, narrowly avoiding crashing into an empty table, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. God, Gabriel must think he was an idiot. When he saw the ten digits printed on the napkin he was probably going to burst out into hysterics. There was no way he was ever going to live this one down.

 

...

“Cas, I’m home,” Dean greeted his flatmate in a cheery tone, throwing his keys down on the coffee-ringed table. The store had been hell, crawling with tantrumming toddlers and rude businesswomen in overpriced suits and court shoes. He was so glad to be home, even if the loud clattering coming from down the hall was worrying him. “You in the kitchen?” He couldn’t smell anything burning yet, and there didn’t seem to be any black smoke billowing out from the doorway. Cautiously, he sniffed the air. Was that cookies?

A scruffy head of dark hair poked around the doorway. “Hello, Dean,” he said, leaning against the door frame. He looked pleased with himself, even with flour dusting his hair and clothes and a generous dollop of batter dripping down his cheeks. “How's Sam?” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Great, yeah. I think he and Gabriel might finally be getting somewhere,” Dean recounted the day, following him into the room, slightly apprehensive about what he might find.

The worktop was a mess of ingredients, covered in a fine sprinkling of cookie mixture and discarded utensils. A pile of chocolate chip cookies sat on a cooling tray, and another tray was baking in the oven.

“Uh, Cas, buddy?” Dean eyed the mess suspiciously.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he chirped, noting the uncertainty in his tone. “It’s store bought, all I had to do was throw it together in a bowl. See.” He picked up the cardboard box from the counter and shoved it into his hands. “Easy as pie.”

“If you say so.” He grabbed a still warm cookie from the pile. At least it actually looked like a cookie, and hey, bonus, it wasn’t green.

Cas took the cookie from him and broke it in two, offering him the larger half. “Let me.” He should say no, find some polite way of saying, “No thanks, I actually value my taste buds,” but Cas was smiling that heart melting smile of his and Dean was gone. Willpower and self respect melted, just like the chocolate chips oozing out of the cookie.

He nibbled a small piece off the edge, and actually it wasn’t so bad. Definitely an improvement on his pasta. Clearly not sweet or gooey enough to be homemade, but not bad.

“So, how was your day? You get your paper finished?” He busied himself with unpacking the shopping, folding the plastic carrier bag up and chucking it in the drawer with the rest of their plastic bag collection. Seriously, where did they all come from? Maybe they were breeding?

Cas threw his half eaten cookie down in disgust. “Uh, no. Afraid not. The final thousand or so words are currently still alluding me, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon.” He frowned. “Either that or I’ll drop out and run off to the mountains and become a hermit goat herd.” He sighed. “Is something you love supposed to be this hard?”

He patted him on the back. “Always,” he said with a chuckle. “But don’t sweat it. You'll get there soon, I know you will.” He squeezed his shoulder. “Anyway, we’d better start clearing up if we want to be eating dinner before midnight. Jump to it.” He swatted Cas’ rear with a nearby tea towel, relishing the gasp of surprise and resulting pissy look it earned him.

“You really are the biggest child I have ever met.”

“Aww, you know you love me,” Dean teased, edging dangerously close to enemy territory.

Keep it friendly, keep it casual and for the love of god, don’t let on that you think the sun dulls in comparison to his smile or that his laughter can light up the room and make his heart skip a beat. That was his one rule. Don’t let Cas know that you are recklessly, stupidly and uncontrollably crushing on him like a teenage girl with her first crush. Cas could never find out the extent of his feelings, it would just make things awkward. While he knew he had nothing against gay people, he didn’t know Dean himself was attracted to men, and it was going to stay that way. Cas was great and all, but what straight guy would want to live with his best friend who had secretly been harbouring a massive crush on him? He’d probably want to move out and they’d end up drifting apart and rarely speaking. It would ruin everything. As much as Dean wanted to kiss him senseless, he valued their friendship too much to risk destroying it all, simply because he couldn’t keep his damn hormones in check. If he ever did let it slip, everything would change, and he couldn’t risk that. He loved Cas too damn much, he needed him in his life, in whatever way the other man was prepared to give, even if it was only friendship.

A hand touched his shoulder. “You alright?” Cas questioned in a soft voice, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he shrugged his concerns off, finishing wiping up the mess Cas had created. “I’m starving, what are we making?”

“I thought we might make a stir fry, they’re quick and it’s one of the only ways I can get you to eat any vegetables. You know, the healthy things. Sometimes green, full of nutrients.” Cas handed him a pan from the cupboard, before bending down to check on the oven. The shirt he was wearing was old, too snug around his upper arms and back, his loose charcoal jeans riding low on his hips. Dean’s brain short circuited. “Two more minutes, I think,” he muttered to himself, standing up right. “What do you think?”

Dean blinked. “Uh, yeah. Looks good.” He tore his eyes away, sparing a quick peak at the cookies. “They’re almost done.”

Cas beamed at him. “Great! I’ll start digging out the ingredients and you can start chopping up the veg.”

Dinner was spent sat in front of the television, balancing heaped plates on their laps. Cas chuckled good naturedly as Dean struggled with a particularly long strand of noodle, earning him a nasty look and a handful of warm vegetables to the face.

“Hey!” He jolted upright from his slump, grabbing the neckline of his shirt and pulling it upwards to wipe down his cheek. “That was not very nice.” He attempted to scowl, but the childish humour on Dean’s face set him off laughing again.

Dean was doubled over, red in the face and gasping for breath in-between explosive fits of laughter. His plate had been discarded on the coffee table, resting precariously close to the edge. So help him god if it tumbled to the floor, Cas would have him picking up noodles and scrubbing the cheep beige carpet for the rest of the evening.

Cas composed himself. “I don’t see what’s so funny.” He took a final bite of his food, before getting to his feet with a groan. Tapping him on the shoulder, he told him sternly, “take your plate in and we'll do the dishes.” Sensing Dean was about to complain, he gently increased the pressure on his arm, narrowing his eyes. “Now, Dean.”

He rolled his eyes and got to his feet with a dramatic sigh, reluctantly allowing them to carry him into the kitchen. They fell into their usual routine wordlessly, Cas scrubbing at the sink, his nimble fingers making quick work of the food remnants staining the cheap dishware, and Dean drying and putting away.

“So, what’s new in your life?” He asked, handing over a dripping wet plate.

Dean shrugged, wrapping it in a clean dish towel. “What, since this morning? Not a lot.” He spun on his and carefully placed the clean dish back in the cupboard. “Oh, I got married. To a supermodel, she’s gorgeous.”

Cas pulled a face, slapping him in the chest with the saturated dish sponge. “Very funny.”

“Nothing much, usual Friday. You know the drill, quick post class snack with Sam and Charlie to celebrate the end of the week, battled with the crowds at the store and headed home. What about you?”

Cas titled his head, dropping his hands back in the soapy water. “I was supposed to be going out tomorrow.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at a stubborn flake of food on the fork. “But the other person cancelled last minute. I suppose they weren’t interested, or perhaps something more important came up.” He dumped the cutlery on the draining board rather than handing it to Dean. “I’m fine though, I couldn’t really spare the time anyway. I have that essay to finish, and band rehearsal on Sunday afternoon.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, his brain trying to register what Cas had just told him. “So you had a date this weekend?” That didn’t sound like him. When he was off stage, he transformed into a quiet, bookish introvert, albeit one with dyed hair and a triple pierced ear lobe.

He nodded slowly.

“But the girl turned you down last minute?” Now that part he really didn’t understand.

Another nod. He wore a strange expression that Dean couldn’t quite place. “Uh, yes.” His voice was distant, hurt. “Something like that.” He threw the sponge down harshly into the sink. It landed with a plop, splashing a spray of apple scented bubbles in their faces .

“What a bitch!” Dean snapped suddenly, tossing a handful of cutlery into the drawer. “That’s real shitty, but don’t sweat it, Cas.” He slapped his back. “It’s her loss, because you’re a really great guy. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

His answering smile was timid, uncertain. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he promised, in his best take no nonsense tone. It worked, as he knew it would. He’d learnt from the master after all. Sam had perfected the art at only a slightly slower pace than he had the puppy dog eyes at six. “You're amazing. Loyal and smart and, uh, not to mention, devastatingly handsome.” He swatted him with the towel he was holding, somewhat damp from drying off the dishes. “Now get back to work.”

His ocean eyes focused intensely on Dean, direct and unblinking. “Thank you, Dean. That means a lot to me."

He nodded, dropping his gaze. “Don’t mention it.” He let out a strangled chuckle and escaped to the safety of his bedroom.

 _God, I’m such an idiot._ He threw the door open, glaring when it refused to slam shut behind him. The culprit was a ratty, maroon hoodie that had fallen from the over door hanger. He picked it up from the floor between two fingers, a tender smile playing with the corners of his lips. This was Cas's hoodie, the one he had lent to him last week. He fingered the soft fabric carefully and pulled it over his head.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked the silent room, flopping down on his lumpy mattress with a grunt.

These feelings he was experiencing were laughably inconvenient, not to mention embarrassingly persistent. Shouldn’t he be over his unrequited crush by now? It had been what, nearly two years since he first laid eyes on Castiel at that gig Benny had dragged him to down at Purgatory. This was ridiculous, Cas would never feel the same and no matter how hard he tried to squash it down, there were his feelings, still as strong as ever.

At first he had been startled by the alien feelings he was having, after a lifetime of repressing his sexuality, choosing to throw himself into his rapidly sinking relationship with Cassie. So what if some band dude was kind of pleasing to the eye? And had a voice like sin and hip bones to die for? It didn’t mean anything, he had eyes that was all. It didn’t mean he was going to do anything but ignore it. Then he broke up with Cassie and it seemed like Castiel was everywhere he looked. Every time he went out to grab a drink, Lazarus were playing there, with their mind-numbingly sexy frontman strutting about and putting on a show like he was born for the spotlight. Every time he remembered he wasn’t up to his eyeballs in student debt just to have a good time and decided to study, guess who he found sitting at the library desk, smiling politely and offering sleep deprived students much needed assistance. He couldn’t escape it, so when the guy tried making polite conversation with him after one of his shows, Dean had figured, “What the hell?” It still didn't mean anything.

“Hello.” His gravelly voice had been a shock to the system, a cool splash of ice water on a scorching July day. Lips quirked upwards in a friendly grin, he introduced himself, holding his calloused hand out in offering. “I’m Castiel.”

Apprehensively, Dean had taken his hand and shook it, hands trembling. “Dean.” His voice was smaller than his handshake.

It had all been downhill from there moment on, Dean was a goner. They’d talked until the bar closed, Dean hanging on every word he said like a lovesick little girl, eating up his every last word with relish.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him from his trip down memory lane. “Dean? I’m thinking about putting a movie on, would you like to join me?” The door opened to reveal a hopeful looking Cas, free of his earlier sprinkling of flour and with shower damp hair and fresh clothing. His expression was pleading, eyes wide and lower lip jutting out into a perfect, pink pout. “Please? We can even watch one of those terrible, scary movies you seem to like so much.” He half skipped into the room, reminding Dean of a very energetic puppy. “Pretty please?”

How could he say no to that face?

“Is that my hoodie?” He asked with a smile, fingering the soft fabric of the sleeve. “It suits you.” He patted the sleeve down gently, and ran off towards the door, turning his head to yell at him to get his lazy butt in gear.

“I’ll be there in a minute, you go ahead and choose the film. But no nature documentaries about the life cycle of bees this time and no sappy chick flicks either,” he warned, making clear his distaste for his flatmate’s taste in cinema. “I'd rather stab myself in the face.”

“Oh no, not your pretty face. That would surely devastate all of your female admirers,” he teased, ducking out of the flight path of the cushion Dean had hurled at his head. Before he had the chance to retaliate, Dean ordered him out of the room and to get Netflix loaded up on the television, silencing his whinging with the promise of heading straight in after he had raided the kitchen for snacks.

Dean strolled into the room without knocking, having to use his hip to bump open the door, his arms too laden down with sharing sized packets of crisps, cookies and a baking sized bowl overflowing with sweet popcorn. Cas was curled up under the covers on the far side of the bed, his damp hair rumpled and TV remote in hand. The overhead light was switched off, the only source of light coming from the faint glow of the television and a small scattering of fairy lights Cas had draped around the bed and window. Dean smiled, taking in the colourful tinsel and old fashioned paper decorations hung everywhere, and the Santa Clause and Rudolph teddy cuddled up on his desk. It was just like him to have decorated for Christmas already, even though it was only the first week of December. Dean wasn’t a fan of Christmas, back home they wouldn’t decorate until a few days before, if they bothered to at all.

“What took you so long?” Cas leaned forward and took the plate of cookies from his hand. Careful not to dislodge the plate nestled atop his thighs, he pulled the corner back, in a silent invitation. “I thought we might watch that new science fiction film you were so excited to see, unless you have any better ideas? I am not watching that horrible movie with the possessed child again, though,” his voice was serious, mouth drawn in a stern line. “I had nightmares for a week. It’s not funny, Dean!” he chastised, folding his arms across his chest. “I fell asleep in Dr. Mills’ lecture! And almost forgot my backpack in the canteen.”

Dean remembered his complaints at the time with perfect clarity. A sleepy, comically grumpy Cas with a cute yawn and pillow-styled hair in even more disarray than usual was a sight to behold.

“Yeah, well, that was ages ago.” He shrugged, relaxing against the soft pile of pillows with a content yawn. Part of the reason they always held their movie nights in Cas' bedroom was that his bed was so much comfier than Dean's. His TV was bigger too, the forty seven inch screen dwarfing his old thirty two inch. “Now quit yammering and just put the damn movie on. I want to see weirdly hot alien mutants taking over the Earth already, dammit.”

He shook his head, but selected the title and adjusted the volume. “If this sucks or gives me nightmares so bad that I fall asleep in my classes again, then I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough.” He reached for the plate of cookies he had initially been terrified to try, watching as the dark TV screen lit up and the opening credits played. “I meant to ask earlier,” he begun, taking a small bite, just in case. “What was with all the cookies? You know you aren’t allowed in the kitchen unsupervised.”

Cas lowered his head, awkwardly raking a hand through his hair, making it stand on end even more. “I know, but,” he trailed off, chewing on his lower lip as he searched for the right words. “It’s your birthday soon.”

Whatever answer he had been expecting, that wasn’t it. “Not for ages yet, can we at least get Christmas and New Year’s out of the way first before you start worrying about my birthday? At this rate you’ll have us celebrating fucking Fourth of July next Tuesday.”

Cas stiffened. “Very funny.” He rolled his eyes, hitting him across the shoulder. “I wanted to try my hand at baking you something, like a pie or a cake. My culinary skills are unfortunately lacking-"

“Boy, you can say that again.”

Cas glowered at him and when he reached to take another cookie, snatched the dish away and placed it out of reach, before continuing on as though the rude interruption had been merely a figment of his imagination. “I thought it would make sense to start off small, with a store bought cookie mix and hopefully work my way up.” He frowned, turning his head. “How did I do? Be honest.” He picked up a cookie and eyed it sceptically. “Do you think I should forget it? Would you prefer a ready made cake from the bakery?”

“Dude, no. They were fine,” he reassured, dusting the crumbs from his mouth. “Sure, I was worried at first when I came home and saw the state of the kitchen, but they were actually pretty good.”

Cas peered over at him dubiously. “Really?”

He nodded. “Keep it up and I might consider lifting your ban.” He made a grab for the plate, and Cas related, handing it back over. Dean happily bit into another one, smacking his chocolate smeared lips together noisily. “Tell you what, tomorrow we can head out and get some supplies and we'll make something together. Whatever you want.”

His answering smile was blindingly beautiful, lighting up the dimly lit room like a supernova. “Cherry pie?”

Dean could practically feel his stomach rumbling and his mouth salivating already. It was no secret that cherry was his favourite. “If you give me food poisoning again, I’ll kill you, but yeah, cherry it is then.”

Plans for the weekend sorted, Cas rewound their film and they settled down to watch it, happy to gorge themselves on semi home baked cookies and popcorn.

“Hey, catch!” Dean threw a sweet ball of popcorn at Cas’ confused face. It collided with his nose and bounced off somewhere down onto the blankets, missing its target by miles. Cas scrunched his face up, rubbing at his nose before inspecting his fingers curiously. “What was the point in that?”

Dean shrugged and threw back a handful of popcorn himself. “It’s fun.”

The unamused expression on Cas' face told him he didn’t share the same sentiment. “Just watch the movie, Dean,” he said, sounding like an overworked and underpaid schoolteacher.

Dean scowled, but did as he was told. “Killjoy,” he muttered under his breath, just barely audible.

The movie was pretty crappy to be honest, for a high budget flick. All fancy cgi effects, sexy costumes and explosives, but little in the way of actual acting talent. The main girl was hot, but if he had to listen to her murder her way through this abysmal script any longer, he was going to chop his ears off with a blunt knife. He dug his phone out instead and browsed his social media, eyes flickering to Cas every so often. The other man was a lot more captivating that a shitty movie or cringey memes that had lost their appeal weeks ago. Cas, on the other hand was leaning forward, eyes wide and jaw slackened, clearly intrigued by the movie. He was even laughing at the poor attempts at humour. He really was beautiful, Dean thought, dumping his phone down beside him, giving up on using it as a poor distraction from his flatmate.

He reached out blindly for a drink, realising with a mumbled curse that he must have left the six pack downstairs. Dammit. Cas tore his attention from the screen, head titled in a silent question.

“Forgot the drinks,” he explained, struggling to find the energy to drag his weary ass from the warm comfort of the blankets and fetch them. He was thirsty, but it was so snug and cosy in the room, with the object of his affection curled up so close. “Like the moron I am and now I’m gasping.”

“Hang on a sec,” Cas said, leaning over to grab a full bottle of off brand fizzy juice from the bedside cabinet. Apart from the bottle, a half read hardback novel and his phone charger, the cabinet was, just like the rest of the space, perfectly tidy. “Just share mine, it’s orange.” He scrunched his nose up. “At least I think it is.” He inspected the label. “Though I wonder why they call it ‘Fruit crush’.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Dean took the bottle from him with some hesitation, worrying he was going to seriously regret this decision. He unscrewed the red cap and risked a small sip, ignoring the way the liquid bubbled up the neck of the bottle. “God, that’s disgusting!” He gagged, resisting the urge to spit. Cas patted him on the back, telling him not to choke. He took a few more sips, face screwing up in disgust, before handing the offending drink back over.

“Not orange, then I take it?” He had ceased his patting and rubbing of his back, but the hand still remained.

He glared at Cas, shaking his head adamantly. “I don’t know what the hell that shit you just tried to poison me with was, but it sure as fuck ain't orange.”

“Hmm,” Cas considered, taking a tiny swig of his own, pulling a face similar to Dean’s. “Well, that was different.” He replaced the cap, staring at the label that unhelpfully refused to state just what exactly made fruit crush taste so vile. “Mango, maybe? Lemon?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if we just drank piss. Don’t ever,” he jabbed him in the chest with one finger, “Buy that crap again.”

Cas edged closer until they were touching, setting his nerves on fire, and placed his other hand over Dean’s heart. “I promise.” He hoped he couldn’t feel the way it was hammering against his ribcage.

“I’m no expert, but I think you're supposed to cross your own heart.”

He shrugged, and removed it, choosing to stay snuggled in close to his side.

The movie ended in a fire of bullets and poorly done explosions, the credits beginning to roll slowly by and he didn’t even notice. Those ocean eyes were far more interesting than gimmicky special effects. Humanity had won though, he thought, so that was something at least.

Cas yawned deeply, refusing to cover his mouth as he turned his head to rest in the crook of Dean's neck, a warm puff of air blowing against his skin and making him shudder. This was torture. Painful, blissful, heart breaking torture. Did Cas know? He couldn’t possibly know. Could he? Then why would he be doing this? Did he want to hurt him? Or could he possibly, maybe feel the-Dean cut off that ridiculous line of thought, sitting up straight, dislodging a barely conscious Cas, who groaned miserably in protest.

“What's going on?” his words were tinged with sleep, barely decipherable through his yawns and sighs. “I’m sleeping, leave me alone,” he grunted, tangling a leg around Dean's. “You're a meanie.” A few seconds later he let out a snore that if it were any louder he would wake the dead.

He huffed out a laugh, carefully detangling himself from the warmth of his sleepy embrace. As quietly as possibly he stood up and moved the junk food away to prevent it from being knocked everywhere in his sleep. “Night, Cas,” he whispered adoringly, a loving smile lifting the corners of his lips. He tucked the blankets around him and crept softly out of the room.

Morning came entirely too fast for Dean. Hours of tossing and turning had left him sore and cranky. Cas knocked on his door at ten, inviting himself in before Dean had a chance to respond. In his arms he carried Dean’s favourite coffee mug, personalised by Sam during an art class when he was eight. The steaming mug was chipped at the rim and quite frankly looked ridiculous, but he’d sell his soul before parting with it.

“Morning, I made coffee and toast.” He placed both down in front of Dean and perched on the edge of the bed by his feet.

“Did I hear the smoke alarm earlier?”

Cas flushed red and averted his eyes. “The first batch turned out a little darker than I had wanted.”

“So you burnt the toast?” He poked at a slice, dripping heavenly warm, golden butter onto the plate.

“This batch is fine,” he said, stealing a piece from his plate and tearing into it eagerly. “But if you don’t want it,” he teased, swallowing the last bite and reaching to take the plate back.

“Hey!” Dean slapped him. “I never said I didn’t.”

He finished his food with Cas' help and washed up the dishes quickly. Leaning against the counter, Dean asked, “Hey, you still want to make pie today?”

He nodded. “I still have to finish my assignment, but that’s not in till Tuesday. I still have tomorrow and Monday to work on it.”

Dean snapped to attention. “Awesome. I’ll just go get ready and we can grab what we need from the store.” He searched through the cupboards, making a mental note of what they didn’t have. “It looks like we just need some more butter, a bit of sugar and of course, the cherries and jam.”

Cas beamed at him. “I’ll grab my coat.”

...

For the second day in a row, the kitchen had been turned into a culinary disaster zone. Once again, Cas' dark hair and clothing had been sprinkled with flour, making him resemble the snow dusted loser of a particularly vicious snowball fight. Dean ensured a safe distance existed between the kitchen disaster that was his roommate and set about cracking and whisking two eggs.

“Are you making the pastry or are you diving in the ingredient?” Dean teased, biting his lip to hold in a laugh. He failed miserably, resulting in a small splash of yolk staining his cheek.

“I’m working on it, but it doesn’t want to cooperate!” Double checking the scales once more for good measure, Cas dumped the carefully weighed out flour into the bowl, along with the sugar and a teaspoon of salt.

Huffing, Dean wiped his face clean with his arm, saving some of the mess to dab on Cas’ nose.

“Thank you for that,” he snapped, butting him out of the way with his hip. “The stickiness of the egg really compliments the powder of the flour.”

“Done with the scales?” Dean didn’t wait for an answer, he just grabbed them and dumped a heap of butter into the bowl. Too much, he sighed and scooped a spoonful off. Perfect. Cas passed over the mixing bowl and he set to work combining the ingredients, stopping only to tell Cas to start stoning the cherries. He did so happily, snacking on a handful as he worked. Dean knew he thought he was being sneaky about it, but the red juice colouring his lips gave him away. The dark stain made his lips appear plumper than usual, softer. Delicious. Like he could just lean over and take a bite. It was very distracting. When Cas’ tongue poked out from between those damn lips and lapped at the juice coating them he wanted to scream.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas was frowning, oven gloves and baking tray in hand. Dean had rushed through the rest of the pie preparation in a fog and now it appeared the pie was ready to bake. “You seem somewhat...dazed.” Those cursed lips curved upwards, mocking him and his inability to keep a check on his damned overactive hormones. What was he, a stupid teenager?

“Is there something wrong?” He quirked an eyebrow, angling his body forwards and into his space.

The kitchen suddenly felt all too small, constricting, suffocating.

“No, I’m fine!” he squeaked, mentally slapping himself for sounding like a pathetic tween whose balls had been snapped off.

Cas chuckled and leaned in closer. Dean could feel every little beat of his erratic heart as it thudded and pulsed inside his chest. Much more of this and he felt he might combust, if Cas took one step closer he feared his chest would erupt.

“You have cherry jam on your face.”

Cas swiped one long finger along the curve of his lips, offering it out for him to see. Impulsively, stupidly, Dean inched forward and brushed his lips against his fingertip, sucking the flesh into his mouth and tasting the sweetness of the jam. Cas’ eyes were dark, holding his gaze. He released the finger and for a moment they just stared at each other, close enough that with every exhale their chests brushed.

“Dean?” His words came out as a question, a faint breath ghosting across his lips.

Cas didn’t look angry, just confused. His mouth was still painted red from the fruit, oh so soft and inviting. He bet they’d taste incredible, even better than they looked. Dean angled his head towards Cas. Now would be the perfect time to lean in and-

He snapped himself out of it, crashing back to reality with a bang and a sinking feeling in his heart. How could he have been so stupid? His brain kept screaming. I almost kissed, Cas. I almost kissed Cas. Shit. With flushed cheeks and a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach, he retreated, bowing his head so he didn’t have to look into those eyes anymore. Light headed, gasping for air, he apologised. “I’m sorry, I was just messing around. I sure fooled you, right?” He laughed awkwardly, the tremor in his hands not from amusement, but fear. What if Cas hated him?

“Dean-"

This was too much. “I just remembered, I have to go somewhere.” Think, doofus, think. “Charlie, uh, Charlie and Dorothy need me to do something for them. At their place.”

“I could go with you,” Cas suggested with a frown.

“No!” Dean answered too quickly. “It’s fine. It’s, uh not a big thing. I’m sure it won’t take too long. You stay here and eat some pie.”

“It shouldn’t be too much longer, you should at least wait and take some with you.”

He felt like there wasn’t enough air for the both of them. He needed out of there. Now. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll just-"

“I insist.” He placed a firm hand on his arm, freezing him in place like a statue. “Please.”

Every second spent waiting for the timer to go off was torture. Cas kept staring at him out of the corner of his eye, a questioning look on his face. Dean couldn’t stand it. If he wanted to say something he should just come out and say it. He had to know so why wasn’t he yelling? Getting angry, shoving him out? Apart from a confused head tilt and the staring, he hadn’t had any reaction at all. The silence was killing him. After an eternity, the oven timer bleeped, the loud buzzing startling them both after the pin drop quiet.

Dean almost burned himself taking it out and plating it up, too impatient to leave it to cool on the rack and admire the heavenly aroma or the way the cherries oozed out from in-between the flaky, golden crust. With a hurried goodbye, he raced to the front door like a hound from hell was after him, grabbing his keys and slinging his jacket over his shoulders. Parked up outside of the house, he tried to call Sam. After the tenth time of getting nothing but hid answerphone, he gave up, throwing the damned thing down in disgust. He couldn't recall much of the drive there, or banging on the door and half scaring his friends to death.

“What the hell, Dean?” Charlie wasn’t thrilled to see him, cloaked in a Hogwarts fleece blanket and wearing an angry scowl. “You could have called.”

“I know, I know.” He held his hands up, palms outstretched. “I’m sorry. I just-" he ran a shaking hand through his hair until it all stood on end. “I’ve really fucked things up.”

She placed a comforting hand on his arm to calm him, calling Dorothy in to tell her to make some drinks.

“What am I, a waitress?” asked the dark haired girl stood in the doorway, hip resting against the wooden door frame. Seeing the scene in front of her she sighed and stalked off into the kitchen to fetch the wine and three generously sized glasses.

“Here. Drink up.” She placed the glass down in front of him, taking a sip from her own. Each of the glasses bore a different Hogwarts crest.

“What happened?” Charlie’s voice was gentle, her hand stroking lightly across his arm. “Is it about that guy?”

He nodded his head miserably. She gestured for him continue. “He knows. Or at least I think he does.”

“Oh honey,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

“I take it that it didn’t go well?”

Charlie shot her girlfriend a scathing look. “Drink up, sweetie.” She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Dean.

“I don’t think he’s mad at me or anything like that, but he didn’t say anything about it either. I think he probably just wants to forget it ever happened." He sighed, leaning into her familiar warmth. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is time I stop living in denial and move on. Clearly me and him are never gonna happen.”

“You can never say never.” She stroked his hair.

“Yeah,” he snorted, looking up. “I can. He’s not interested and that bites, but it ain’t like there’s anything I can do about it.”

“Life’s a bitch like that sometimes,” Dorothy cheered mockingly, raising her glass. Her eyes gave her away, though. She was sad. Putting her drink down, she walked over and sat on the armrest beside him. “I’m really sorry things with your and your straight boy didn’t work out. You’re one of the good ones, Dean, you deserve something special.”

He forced out a smile. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”

She returned the smile. “You might as well stay for dinner. We were gonna make lasagne before we remembered we both suck at cooking, so we ordered enough Chinese to feed a small army.”

They watched Scooby Doo while they ate, giggling like children at the cartoon dog’s capers. Afterwards the girls shared the chunk of pie Dean had brought. He didn’t have the stomach to eat the food he and Cas had enjoyed making together.

“Um, Charlie?” He hated how small his voice sounded. He wrung his hands together in his lap. “That offer from yesterday, about the date, I was wondering if it was too late to change my mind?”

Her eyes widened.

“I know I said no, but I think you’re right. It might be good for me to get back out there. Lord knows I’m no good at picking ‘em. I mean Lisa, Cassie, Ca-this guy, it’s like I’m cursed or something.

She forced a smile out. “Of course, hun. If that’s really what you want.”

He nodded. “It is,” he lied.

“Well, alright then, I’ll send the guy a quick message. How does next Friday sound for you?”

“Great, that sounds great.” The words tasted stale in his mouth.

...

Dean saw little of Cas over the following days. He snuck back home from Charlie's at stupid o clock in the morning, long after he knew Cas would have retired to bed. His phone was full of voicemails and texts he would never open. Call him a coward, but he didn’t need to hear his long term crush tearing him a new one over a shitty answerphone message. Cas stayed in his bedroom most of Sunday morning, working on his essay, Dean assumed. Or maybe he was just avoiding him. Either way, it worked out best for his anxious, lovesick heart. From inside the safety of his bedroom, he heard Cas shuffling about in their shared bathroom just after two, getting ready for his band practice. When the bathroom door creaked open twenty minutes later, he waited with bated breath, his shaking fists clenched in his lap. Cas always poked his head round to tell him if he was off out anywhere, usually with an offer to tag along. Not today. The front door slammed shut with a ferocious clang, making him jump. He tried to convince himself that being treated like some sort of invisible leper didn't hurt, but it did. He had never been a very good liar. With a defeated groan, he collapsed back down on his lumpy mattress and spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the ceiling, his treacherous mind seeing fit to replay every second of his recent stupidity in HD. His blind date on Friday couldn't come quick enough. He doubted that the guy would come anywhere close to Cas, but at least it might help him to forget about him for one evening. And who knows? Maybe they would hit it off and it would give him the kick up the ass he needed to move on from his useless pining.

Monday morning and it was back to the grindstone. Wake up, class, go home, avoid Cas, repeat. It was painful and lonely, but at least he didn’t have to see the disgust in Cas' eyes whenever he looked at him. By the time he got up for class, Cas was already long gone, the coffee pot ice cold and the breakfast dishes scrubbed clean. When he arrived home, he was either holed up in his room or out. Dean didn't know where. Band practice or the library, maybe? He could even be on a date, he realised with a sharp twist to his gut. Wherever Cas was, he wasn’t here. Without him, the place was hauntingly silent, save for the old chiming clock in the living room. Late Wednesday afternoon the batteries died, and it refused to talk to him, just like its owner. Dean stayed out of the flat as much as he possibly could, hiding away in his room when be couldn’t. It was too hard to be in their home alone, too painful. If he kept busy then he could almost pretend that nothing has changed between them, that it hadn’t all came crashing down and burnt out to a cinder thanks to his stupid heart.

Their paths didn’t cross again until Thursday evening. Dean had been moping around the flat for hours, his last seminar had finished up a good half hour early. Ordinarily he would try to grab a drink with Benny, as his final class of the day let out around the same time, but the bastard was off sick with some virus. Selfish dick, didn’t he know that his best friend needed him? After the disappointment, he thought that he might drive into the city to do some shopping, but there had been a major crash, so he decided wandering around the supermarket just for the sake of it wasn’t a good enough reason to battle regular rush hour traffic on top of the backload caused by the smash. So he had headed home, praying that Cas' wouldn’t be there.

The place was in darkness when he arrived, throwing his keys down on the table and kicking his boots off. He vegetated in front of the TV for a while, but not even reruns of Dr. Sexy had the power to lift his spirits. He got a text from Charlie, telling him that blind date dude wasn’t sure he would be able to make Friday after all. He threw the phone down angrily, grunting in satisfaction as it landed on the floor with a muted thud. Great. Just peachy. Cas didn’t want him and now neither did mystery guy. Was there something majorly wrong with him, a fatal flaw so off-putting that made guys he hadn’t even met yet abandon ship? Suddenly his phone erupted into the chorus of his favourite song, startling him out of his miserable sulk. Maybe Charlie had made a mistake? Maybe it was Cas? He jumped up, grabbing the device and promptly dropping it again in his haste. He stared at the screen like it might bite him, struggling to decide whether to pick up or let it ring out.

With a sigh, he made his decision.

“Dean?” It had not even been a week since he had heard his name spoken in Cas’ gravelly tone. It felt like centuries. “Dean, are you there?” He sounded urgent, panicked.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He couldn’t bring himself to say his name, to stab himself through the heart like that. He plopped back down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sure you’re busy.”

He had never heard him sound so formal, so detached. Not with him. His throat burned.

“I’m stuck in Purgatory. You know, the bar down on Levi Street?”

Dean did know it, knew it well in fact. Purgatory was the first place he had ever laid eyes on the ocean eyed wonder that was Cas, singing his heart out, decked in skin tight leather and spikes. It was a rundown club that might have once been something special, and while it wasn’t strictly a gay club, it had become something of an unspoken fact that most of its regulars were members of the community in some way or another. Save for Cas, as far as Dean knew the other three members, Meg, Balthazar and Chuck were all bisexual, so he didn’t question them playing there.

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Me and the guys are supposed to be playing here tonight, but I’m the only one here. Meg called and said the traffic down her end of town is impassable.”

Dean switched hands and walked over to the window. When had he started pacing? And when had he actually gotten to his feet again? “Yeah, there was a major accident earlier today, rush hour time too. If they’re stuck in it, I don’t think they’ll make it to the gig. What time do you go on?”

Cas pulled a face, even if Dean wouldn’t see it. “Half eight,” he huffed, shuffling his feet. “I’ve already told them about the situation, that the rest of the band aren’t going to be able to make it. That’s not why I called.”

Dean was silent for a minute, heart thumping in his too tight chest. His tongue darted out to dampen his suddenly too dry lips. “Why did you call?” He held his breath. Because I missed you? I needed to hear your voice?

“My car won’t start.”

And just like that, the tiniest shred of hope he had shattered like glass.

“I’m sorry, I know you're probably busy. And things are, well, complicated at the moment. Maybe I can just get a bus or-"

“Wait there,” he sighed. He should call Sam, he could borrow the car and go pick him up. “I’ll come rescue you.”

“But the traffic, you don’t have to do that.”

Dean shrugged his coat on, awkwardly shifting the phone from ear to ear. “It’s fine, I’ll go the back way in. It’s longer, but I shouldn’t be long.”

A pause. “Thank you, Dean.”

Despite what he promised, he did try to call Sam, but he must be busy, because he didn’t pick up. Again. Well, that was just awesome. Did Sam have to wait till the week his life was falling apart to find one of his own? He got into the car and drove off, the sound of the music blaring in his ears still not loud enough to drown out his concerns. What was he thinking? This was the worst idea he had ever had, even more foolish than the time he had eaten Cas' failed attempt at stew when he was sick back when he had first moved in. The gloopy, brown sludge had just looked unappealing, and whatever had been swimming in it was enough to make him puke his already putrid guts out for a solid forty eight hours. This was such a terrible idea. Cursing himself and fighting the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel, he pulled onto Levi Street, keeping an eye out for a devastatingly handsome, blue eyed angel.

Cas was hunched over waiting outside the club, a simple black guitar case by his feet. When he noticed the sleek, black sheen, and roar of the impala, he straightened and waved enthusiastically. “You actually came!” he cried, jogging over to greet him. Leaning down so that his face was level with the open window, he admitted that he wasn’t sure he would.

“Don’t be stupid, course I was gonna. Not gonna leave you stranded. Where’s the car?”

Cas pointed to the small car park just behind the building. “I called a few garages, but they’re all booked up solid. And I have no way of getting it there, I don’t think I’ll have enough to call a tow truck.” He worried his lower lip.

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll have Bobby take a look at it, he owes me a favour.” Bobby Singer of Singer and Winchester’s Auto was like a second father to him. Up until he had started his post grad studies, Bobby had gladly let Dean lend a hand around the shop whenever he was strapped for cash. John had been gone a good while now, but the name hadn’t changed, and Dean suspected it never would. “It costs too damn much to change the sign and all the crap that goes with it,” was always the excuse he used. Dean knew better, he could tell when somebody missed someone. And, despite his many faults, there was a lot to miss about John Winchester.

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “Does he really, now?”

Dean laughed, reaching over and opening the door for him. It almost felt like old times having Cas sat beside him. Almost. “Well, no, but the guys like my father, he’ll be happy to help.” He bit his lip. “Better, if I’m honest. He looked after me and Sammy a lot when we were kids, he’s the one who taught me everything I know about cars. There was a time I thought I’d work for him, but after dad died he kept pushing me to keep on at school.” He smiled softly, remembering the pride in the gruff older man’s eyes the day he told him he’d been accepted into college. “Guess he wanted more for me.”

Cas patted him on the knee with a gentle hand, smiling up at him with a look on his face Dean couldn’t quite recognise. “He sounds like a very special person. I’m glad you have him, and I’m also glad you told me all this.”

Dean waved it off. “Yeah, it’s, well, whatever. Not a big deal. Anyway, we’d better be off.”

Silence. A nod.

Right. Okay. Just drive. Focus on the road, the music, the lights of the city. Anything. Not him. Not Cas. Sparing a quick glance across at him at a stubborn red light, Dean gulped. Cas was dressed in his performance gear, the unforgiving leather tight around his muscular thighs, the deep gashes revealing inches of tantalizingly close, smooth skin. A studded acid wash denim jacket hung loosely from his shoulders, hiding away his colourful chest tattoos and angel wings permanently painted onto his back, the dozen or so ironed on patches barely visible in the dim glow offered by the street lights. Under it, his chest strained against the onyx fabric of his shirt, the frayed hem resting just below his navel. Sometimes when he breathed, the shirt would ride up, exposing the small sapphire gem nestled snugly in his belly button. Bundled up under his usual frumpy layers of sensible trousers, white button ups and trench coat, Cas didn't appear to be the sort of person who would dress this way, the electric blue streak and his multiple ear piercings the only clues to his secret nature. Dean loved it.

He shivered, despite the heat fanning across his face. Mercifully, the light turned green. Cas’ hand remained on his leg. What the hell was he playing at?

“Thank you for picking me up.” Cas broke the awkward silence that had descended between them.

He nodded stiffly. “No problem.”

Cas finally lifted his hand. “Dean, look, about the other night-"

“It’s fine. I know you don’t,” he sighed, pulling up outside their apartment building. He cut the engine, fingers drumming along the wheel. “Look, you don’t got to worry about it anymore. I’m not, well, you know, anymore. I’ve got a date.” The words came out like acid, too fast and jumbled, stinging his throat.

“A date? You have...A date?” Cas echoed. “Oh.” His frown transformed into sad smile. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Cas swung open the door. “That’s great, I hope you have a lovely time. Goodnight.” It slammed shut behind him, leaving Dean dazed and confused.

Had he been imagining it, or had Cas sounded, for lack of a better word, jealous? But no, that was crazy, just a load of wishful thinking, right? Why would he be jealous, except for the obvious, which, of course, was a load of nonsense. Right? Dean yelled, frustrated and exhausted, and made his way inside. Cas’ door was firmly closed, the sound of some angry rock music blasting through his expensive speakers.

Taking the hint, he retreated back to his room, slamming the door shut for no other reason than to be childish and petty. Well, fine, if that was how he wanted to play it. It wasn’t as if he had believed he had a shot anyway, but why did Cas have to make it seem like maybe he had, if only for a minute? He threw himself into his bed, where he fell into a fitful sleep, nightmares full of angels with blue eyes, black wings and blood stained lips. When he surfaced the next morning he had been awake for hours. The boiling of the kettle and running water were the soundtrack to his breakfast as he heaped piles of bacon and toast onto a plate and scoffed it down like a starved man. When the water cut off and he heard the bathroom door open he refused to budge.

“Morning,” he greeted a shower damp Cas through a mouthful of toast, waving mockingly as he forced himself to keep his eyes firmly on his plate and not on the droplet of warm water running down his neck.

Cas blinked, clearly surprised to see him sitting there. “Good morning.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the opposite side of the table.

“About last night, and I suppose, the other day, I’m sorry. It’s stupid.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You think what is stupid exactly?”

Dean gestured between them. “This. You're like my best friend and I don’t wanna fuck things up. So can we just go back to normal?” He looked hopeful, eyes wide and pleading. “I get why it’s awkward for you, but really, it doesn’t have to be anymore. I’ve got my date tonight, so we should just forget about everything.” While he wasn’t yet sure if his date was back on again, he was planning on heading out tonight anyway. Maybe try and pick up some girl at the bar, try and take his mind off of Cas and all their weirdness.

He turned away. “If that is what you think is best.” His voice was ice. “I’m going to class now.” He grabbed his bag from the side, slipping his arms through the straps. Before closing the door, Cas spun round. “Just so you know, I have a date tonight too. Don’t expect me back.”

With that, he was gone.

When Dean got out for lunch, a single text message was waiting for him. Eagerly he opened the messaging app, only to be let down. It was Charlie. Not Cas.

 

_Your Romeo called. Date still on. Six at the Italian place down by the park. Dress nice._

...

“So wait, let me get this straight.” Charlie giggled at Sam’s poor choice of words, trying to hide her laughter behind a napkin. He glared at her, rolling his eyes. “You and Cas almost kissed last Saturday and you’ve been avoiding him since then?”

“So Cas is the straight guy you’ve been moping over. Huh,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows. “Never would have seen than one coming.”

“I also kinda sucked on his finger, too.” Mystery Spot was thankfully almost empty, the bitterly icy rain keeping everyone with half a brain away. Sam pulled a face, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Gross! I could have lived my life happily never knowing that.”

Dean grunted in agreement, averting his eyes. “He was there and he was standing so close and shit, now everything’s so messed up.”

Sam reassured him with a gentle smile and an arm around his shoulder. Squeezing lightly, he said, “I’m sure that’s not true. Cas is a good guy, he probably just needs time to adjust. I’d be freaked too if my best friend randomly starting slurping on my fingers and trying to kiss me!”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But you aren’t there, Sammy. Things are so weird between us now. At first we couldn’t even be in the same room together, but yesterday when his car broke down he was acting all strange.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “Strange how?”

Dean sighed and picked up his drink. Charlie offered him her biscuit to dunk, smiling softly. “I dunno, just off. Like there was almost a second where I thought,” he trailed off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. He made it clear today that nothings gonna happen. He has a hot date tonight,” he spat the words as though they might contaminate him.

Charlie’s eyes widened. Sam dug him in the ribs. “Moron,” they exclaimed in unison. “What a complete, utter moron you are.”

Dean frowned, biting into his coffee dunked biscuit. “How am I a moron?”

Charlie shook her head, elbowing Sam under the table when he tried to speak. “Just go on the damn date later, forget all about this drama with your roommate. It will sort itself out in the end, you’ll see.”

“I guess.” He sounded unconvinced.

“Relationship drama?” A flour dusted hand slapped down on the table beside his plate. “I guess not everyone can be as happy and loved up as me and Samoose,” he teased, waving his fingers cheekily in Sam’s direction.

“Gabriel.” Dean didn't even need to look up. “Still tormenting my poor brother, I see.”

Gabriel chuckled, a full on belly laugh, complete with shaking shoulders and the occasional snort. “Didn’t he tell you? We’ve been seeing each other since last week, been out four times already. We're thinking of a summer wedding. Fancy dress, of course. In Vegas.”

Sam’s cheeks were flaming. He ducked behind his hair, trying to ignore his brother’s horrified expression altogether. Well, that explained Dean’s struggle to get hold of him this this week. He was off sucking face with this trickster. Awesome.

Dean glanced at his phone. Already nearly four. He finished his coffee in a final swig and got to his feet. “I should go. Don’t wanna be late for tonight.”

Truthfully, he didn’t want to go at all, but he didn’t want to be the kind of asshole who stood someone up. It hurts and leaves you wondering what was so repulsive and wrong with you for far longer than you would care to admit.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he complained to his wardrobe. The doors were wide open, most of the clothes dangling haphazardly from their hangers or piled in a mountain on the floor. “Dress nice, what does that even mean? It’s just freaking dinner, I’m not putting a fucking suit on again just so I can spill pasta sauce all down it.” Sighing, he grabbed a shirt from the crumpled heap and closed the door with a bang, before dragging his complaining ass into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

An hour later and he was sitting in the candlelit corner of the quaint little Italian place, checking the time, tapping his leg and drumming his fingers along the table top impatiently. What was taking this guy so long? Ok, so granted, he was twenty minutes early, but still. The waiting was agony.

“Can I have a top up, please?” He grabbed the attention of a waiter, an impeccably dressed young man with eyes almost as blue as Cas'. He held up his empty glass of water for him to take. “Same again, sir, just water?”

Dean nodded, wanting to maintain a clear head for when his date arrived. He glanced at the ornate golden clock on the wall above him again. If he arrived, his brain corrected. “Thanks.”

Six o clock came and went. The crisp white collar of his previously unworn shirt was choking him, he tried loosening it by tugging open another button, but there still wasn’t enough air. The man from before cast him a sympathetic look when he came out with the neighbouring table’s order. He didn’t see the taxi pull up or hear the door open, but he felt the knot twist in his stomach when he heard the waiter say in a low, slightly accented voice, “right this way, Mr. Novak, you’re over by the window.”

Crap. Cas was here. On his date. With someone else. He couldn’t even look up. Maybe it was a different Novak? He tried to force himself to believe it, but despite what Sam might think, he wasn’t an idiot. It wasn't exactly a common name. When he heard the low rumble of his roommate’s gracious reply his heart sunk all the way down to his gut. He had to leave, make up some excuse to his absent date. He’d call Charlie as soon as he got back to the car, explain to her, get her to pass on his regrets. If he even cared to hear them, he still hadn’t shown. Perhaps Cas showing up was for the best, saving him from another evening of humiliation waiting on a date that wouldn’t come.

He was about to get to his feet and dash for the exit when the chair opposite was pulled out, the wooden legs squealing along the floor. “Hello, Dean. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

His heart stopped. “Cas?”

He dragged his eyes away from the ground, giving him the once over. He looked good, vastly different from last night’s show attire, but still beautiful. His hair had been swept backwards from his face, his charcoal jumper neat fitting and expensive, likely a gift from his parents. He wore an uncertain smile, fiddling with his fingers as he hovered next to the seat.

“May I?”

Dean could only nod, dumbfounded.

“Sorry I’m late, I had trouble with my lift. Meg wanted to know everything and well,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I knew I should have taken the bus.”

“What are you doing here? Your date?”

Cas ducked his head. “Let me explain,” he began, hiding his burning cheeks behind the menu. “Meg caught me after practice a week or so ago, telling me a friend of a friend knew this really great guy for me. So they set it up.” He coughed, embarrassed. Dean unthinkingly pushed his glass towards him. “They set it up for last weekend, but the guy bailed. Guess he wasn’t as interested as she thought.” He took a sip, pausing to order a drink for himself from a passing waiter.

Dean ordered another drink for himself, the house wine, same as Cas. “Wait, guy?”

“Yes, guy. Dean,” he grabbed his hand, cupping it with his own. “I’m gay. I thought you knew. That’s why I thought it was so strange when you were talking about a girl.”

He shook his head. “I had no idea, if I had then...”He shook his head and took a sip of wine. Not his usual tastes, but pleasant enough.

Cas grinned impishly, a rare look that suited him tremendously. “What?” He batted his eyelids. “You might have asked me out?”

Dean choked. “No! I mean, well, I just.”

He squeezed his hand. “The other night in the kitchen-"

Dean butted in. “When I made a fool of myself.”

“When you looked as though you were going to kiss me,” he corrected. “I was so happy. Shocked, but happy. Then you freaked out and left and I couldn’t get hold of you to explain and you avoided me the next day, so I thought you wanted to pretend it never happened.”

Dean remembered, tugging at his collar at the embarrassing memory. “You avoided me too,” he pointed out.

“Only because I didn’t know what to say to you. Then I found out you had a date and, well, I was jealous.” He looked away, staring at the twinkly border of lights that framed the window. “So I called up Meg and asked her if she could arrange something for me for tonight. I didn’t want to be stuck home moping while you were out hitting it off with someone amazing. I swear I didn’t know it was you! She never told me a name, simply where to go and when.”

Hesitantly, he leaned in. “Are you glad?” He whispered.

Another grin, dangerous and knowing. It melted his knees. “Very.” A flash of perfectly white teeth, sharp and just a tiny bit crooked.

“Sounds like my friend and your friend make the perfect evil duo of matchmakers. Charlie has been at me for ages, kept telling me about this amazingly perfect guy.”

“Well, as nice a compliment as that is, I wouldn’t quite go that far. I have my faults.”

“Oh, I know. You take forever in the bathroom, can’t cook and your sleeping pattern is non-existent. I live with you, believe me, I know.”

He threw his head back, eyes twinkling in the dim light as he laughed. He was so damn beautiful. Dean wanted to tell him, so he did. His face was burning and he was slightly breathless, but he did.

Cas was speechless, staring at him wide eyed and slack jawed. He was still so damn beautiful. He squeezed his hand back.

“Can I take your order?”

Dean looked at Cas, questioning.

“We’ll go for the spaghetti, I think?”

Dean nodded. “Sounds great. And some bread to share.”

The man nodded, noting their table number. “And the pasta, will that also be to share?”

“Uh,” he looked to Cas for reassurance, dying not to say the wrong thing. There had been enough of that this week.

“That’s fine with me.”

“Me too.” Dean folded the menus up and handed them back.

“So,” Cas began, twirling a strand of pasta around his fork neatly. “How come you never told me?”

“How come you never told me?” He countered, dunking a slice of freshly made bread into the sauce, smirking at the look of revulsion on his face. Table manners were not a Winchester priority, even somewhere as nice as this.

Cas returned the smirk, a dark eyebrow lifting up in a challenge. “I wasn’t aware that I had told you anything yet.” He took another sip of wine, gracefully touching the glass to his lips and placing it back down without spilling a drop.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded.

“I love you, Dean.” And then, “even if you are the most oblivious, ridiculous man I have ever met.”

“Gee.” He pulled a face, kicking his foot underneath the snowy tablecloth. “Love you too, asshole.”

 

 

 [EM1]


End file.
